


Stay with Me, Forever

by Lavender_and_Vanilla



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Don't copy to another site, Early Relationship, Established Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Happy Ending, Hospitalization, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sickfic, background Johnlock, major character illness, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:34:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25657489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lavender_and_Vanilla/pseuds/Lavender_and_Vanilla
Summary: After dating for weeks, Mycroft brings Greg home for the night. The perfect morning after is disrupted by a sudden illness and Mycroft finds himself somewhere he never wished to be. Happily, Greg is willing to stay.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Mycroft Holmes/Lestrade
Comments: 85
Kudos: 249
Collections: Mystrade Sickfics / Hurt-Comfort Collection, Rupert Graves Birthday Collection 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Echo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Echo/gifts).



> For Echo, who gave me a juicy prompt. I hope I did it justice. 
> 
> Thanks to Antheas_Blackberry for beta reading and reassuring. 
> 
> Mind the tags!

Mycroft hazily came awake to the sensation of soft kisses being laid along his upper back and neck. The gentle press of lips produced tiny shivers of pleasure that coalesced into a warm, cozy feeling prodding his sleepy mind toward wakefulness. He reveled in the awareness of his naked body cradled in his comfortable bed. He could feel the heat from Gregory’s body behind him and the tentative nudge of a hard cock at his bum. A low murmur hummed near his ear.

A kiss. “Twenty-nine.” A kiss. “Thirty. “A kiss. “Thirty-one” A kiss.

“Good morning, Gregory,” Mycroft spoke softly, his voice rough with morning phlegm.

“Morning, love.” Greg replied and gave Mycroft’s shoulder another quick peck. “Thirty-three.”

Mycroft sniffed and cleared his throat. The counting and kissing continued. “What are you doing?”

“I’m.” A kiss. “Counting.” A kiss. “Your.” A kiss. “Freckles.” A kiss. “Thirty… um… forty… bugger. I’ve lost count.”

Mycroft snickered.

“I guess I’ll have to start over.” Gregory didn’t seem too put out by the thought.

Mycroft rolled over to face his lover. Ah, it was so satisfying to refer to Gregory as his lover. “I’d much rather you kiss me.” Mycroft wriggled close and laid a loving kiss on Greg’s lips.

Greg sighed appreciatively and returned the kiss adding nibbles and licks. His arms pulled Mycroft closer. Their noses pushed against each other and stubble rasped their chins. Hands caressed lower backs, cupping cheeks. They parted slowly as the kiss came to an end, smiling fondly.

Greg moved to kiss Mycroft again, but an odd look crossed Mycroft’s features. He turned his head with his hand pressed to his mouth and nose. “I’m going to sneeze,” he mumbled. His shoulders shook as a violent sneeze erupted.

“Aww… Bless you.”

Another sneeze overtook Mycroft as he twisted away.

“Bless you.” Greg laid a comforting hand on Mycroft’s back.

Mycroft sat up and reached for the tissue box on the bedside table. He sneezed twice more as he managed to get a tissue to his nose.

“Goodness, are you all right?” Greg sat up.

Mycroft blew his nose and dropped the tissue in the bin beside the bed. He turned back to Greg with a sheepish smile. “Apologies. That happens most mornings,” he reassured Greg.

The concern on Greg’s face was immediately replaced with a bright smile. “You mean when I wake up with you in the morning I get to bless you, as well as count your freckles and kiss you? This gets better and better.”

“You. Are. Ridiculous.” Mycroft took a tender kiss between each word. Greg kissed Mycroft back turning tenderness to passion, until a loud growl filled the room. Mycroft ended the kiss and looked at Greg bemused. “Hungry?” he queried, looking pointedly at Gregory’s softly furred abdomen.

Greg was unfazed. “Hungry for you.” His stomach protested the sentiment. “But breakfast would be good.”

Mycroft smiled. “Of course, I have eggs and bread and fresh berries. Or if you’d rather, we could go out?”

“Oh, do you have flour, butter and milk?” Greg asked hopefully.

“Yes, I’m not a complete kitchen novice.”

“I’m going to make you crepes,” Greg announced and bounced out of bed. He found his overnight bag before ducking into the bathroom. Greg returned shortly and Mycroft admired Greg’s physique as he rooted for fresh pants and a T-shirt.

“Are you sure? Isn’t that a lot of trouble?” Mycroft sat with the sheets puddled in his lap. Greg had slid on the jeans he’d worn last night. He was fastening his watch and putting his mobile in his pocket.

“No trouble,” Greg replied. He tapped his temple. “I’ve got the recipe right here and I want to treat you.” Now dressed he came over to Mycroft. “Take your time.” He kissed Mycroft briefly. “I’ll get breakfast together.”

Greg started to leave, but Mycroft caught his wrist. “Why didn’t we do this sooner?”

“What? Become lovers, spend the night together, or make breakfast?”

“All of it.” Mycroft bit his lip and looked into Greg’s eyes, hoping the man could see all the affection and gratitude Mycroft had for him.

Greg’s expression grew soft. “I guess it just wasn’t time.” He cupped Mycroft’s face and ran a thumb along his cheekbone. “I’m just happy we’re doing it now.” He kissed Mycroft’s forehead and bounded out of the room.

Mycroft flopped back in the bed and heaved a happy sigh. He stretched, wriggling his fingers and toes. He felt pleasantly tingly all over. He sat up quickly and rose from the bed. Mycroft spent a few moments tidying the bedclothes and rescuing Greg’s socks from under the bed.

He, too, made quick work of his morning toilet and found a pair of soft khakis and, in the back of the closet, a polo shirt. Normally he shunned short sleeves, but since Greg seemed to love his freckles he didn’t feel so self-conscious with his arms exposed. He glanced in the mirror on his closet door. Or perhaps he still did, but in a good way now.

Mycroft found Greg standing at the cooker, listening to the morning news. His feet were bare on the kitchen tile, and sight made Mycroft feel very protective. “Are your feet cold? Would you like your socks?” he asked.

Greg glanced at his feet, then twisted to smile at Mycroft. “I’m fine, love. Thanks for asking.”

A wave of dizziness washed over Mycroft as he absorbed the warmth from Greg’s smile. He smiled back crookedly, and went to sit at the table to watch Greg finish preparing their meal.

“You didn’t tell me you had crème fraîche,” Greg commented as he carefully flipped a crepe. “That’s going to make these strawberry crepes perfect.”

Mycroft wasn’t sure if he was supposed to reply. He opened his mouth and then closed it. His tongue felt odd. He reached for a glass of water already sitting on the table. His hand closed around the glass. As he lifted it to his lips the glass slipped out of his grasp and clattered onto the table. Water and ice splattered Mycroft. “Bugger,” he said. The word sounded odd to him.

Greg whirled around at the sound. “What happ—Fuck!” Horror had filled Greg’s countenance.

“It’s just water,” Mycroft tried to reassure Gregory, but again his words didn’t sound right. Random vocalizations came out instead of words. Suddenly Mycroft realized the right side of his body wasn’t cooperating. Everything on that side was numb and heavy. He listed to the side, nearly toppling out of his chair, but Gregory was there, catching him, cradling him. They eased to the floor.

“I’m calling an ambulance, love.” Gregory’s voice was calm and firm, but Mycroft could feel the tremors in Gregory’s arm where it wrapped around his shoulders, supporting him.

“Gregory,” Mycroft tried to say. He was starting to feel frightened. What was happening to him? He was weak as a kitten, dizzy and unable to communicate.

Greg had dug his mobile from his pocket and was speaking. “I think my partner’s having a stroke. Please hurry.”

Mycroft whimpered and closed his eyes. This couldn’t be real. Everything had been so perfect.

“Mycroft? Stay with me, love,” Greg pleaded.


	2. Chapter 2

Mycroft hazily came awake. Fluorescent lights stabbed at his eyes, behind his lids. The stink of antiseptic filled his nostrils, making them flare. He was lying on a hard mattress and the sheets were stiff and scratchy. Hospital, he realized. He was lying in a hospital bed. How long he’d been here, he wasn’t sure. The pounding of his head made it difficult to think. His mouth felt dry and sticky and he rather needed the facilities. He could hear the sound of someone talking quietly next to him, but not to him.

“The doctor said it wasn’t a stroke. It was some sort of temporary attack… Yeah, that’s it, transient ischemic attack.”

It was Gregory’s voice. Mycroft immediately felt relieved. Gregory was with him still. He turned his head toward the voice and opened his eyes, drinking in the sight of Greg sitting in the chair next to him. He was staring at the floor with one hand pressing his mobile to his ear and the other plunged into his silver hair. Mycroft lifted his right hand and reached out. “Gregory,” he whispered, grateful it wasn’t a garbled mush of syllables.

Greg’s head shot up, his eyes wide looking at Mycroft. “John, he’s awake. I’ve got to go… yeah, I’ll call back.”

Greg quickly put away his mobile and gripped Mycroft’s hand. Relief and concern flickered alternately across his handsome features. “Hey,” he crooned. “Welcome back.”

“What happened? Where am I?” Mycroft croaked and tried to swallow.

“I thought you were having a stroke. I turned around when I heard you drop the glass and half your face was all slack. You were speaking gibberish.”

Mycroft grunted. “I vaguely remember the ambulance ride. Everything gets rather hazy after that.”

“You’re at National Hospital for Neurology and Neurosurgery, thanks to Anthea. The doctors say you had a transient ischemic attack, a temporary lack of oxygen to part of your brain.” Greg gently brushed the curl back off of Mycroft’s forehead. “You were a bit out of it when we got here, but your face was looking better. Then they tried to put you in the MRI.”

Mycroft winced. “Oh dear.”

“Yeah, you needed quite a bit of sedation.” Greg sighed, “Which the doctors weren’t happy about doing, because they wanted to be able to monitor your symptoms. You appeared to be improving, so they figured it’d be safe enough.” He gently squeezed Mycroft’s hand and Mycroft returned the pressure. Greg smiled wanly. “You have a mean left hook for a man that’s right handed.”

“Did I hit you?” Mycroft looked horrified.

“No, no. You took a swing at one of the orderlies.” Mycroft groaned. “No one blames you, love.” Greg kissed the hand he held. “I didn’t realize you were so claustrophobic.”

“It’s not just that,” Mycroft muttered. He looked around the room noting the infusion pump tethered to him by IV tubing. He could see a monitor hung above his bed, though he couldn’t see the screen. A gentle rhythmic beeping could be heard and the rate of the beeping had started to increase. “I’m not very fond of hospitals.” Mycroft pulled his hand gently from Greg’s hold and struggled to sit up more.

“Hang on.” Greg pressed Mycroft back. “You’re to rest. I can raise the head of the bed.” He fiddled with the controls raising Mycroft up to about 45 degrees. “Better?”

“A bit.” His eyes darted around the room. “But I really need the facilities,” he mumbled.

“Oh, of course.” Greg hit the call button for the nurse. “I should’ve let them know you were awake.”

Mycroft flinched as the call light flashed on and the speaker crackled. Greg spoke with the nurse, who promised to be right in.

“Gregory?”

“Yes, love?”

The endearment soothed some of Mycroft’s jangled nerves. He smiled weakly. “I want to go home. I feel better. It wasn’t a stroke.”

“Not my call.” Greg smiled sympathetically.

“Surely, I don’t have to stay. I can rest at home.”

“The docs seem to have a whole mess of tests lined up for you in the morning.” Despondent, Mycroft sighed and Greg reached out to comfort him.

The door opened and in breezed a very fit, compact, young man, wearing a bright smile. “Hello Mr. Holmes, I’m Ian, your nurse today.” Greg moved away from the bedside to allow Ian through to turn off the call light. “I understand you’d like to use the bathroom.”

Stunned by such a cheerful blonde beauty, Mycroft could only nod. He darted a glance toward Greg and saw the man trying to hide a smirk behind his hand. The beast knew his nurse was stunning. How unfair not to be warned.

“Let’s check you out before you get up.” Ian quickly did a neurologic check. “That’s much better,” he declared. “You’re still a bit weak on the right, but better then when you came in.” He lowered the bed rails and helped Mycroft to sit at the edge of the bed. “Dizzy at all?”

Mycroft shook his head, “No.” He looked over to Greg, hoping his partner would offer to take over. Greg gave him an encouraging smile. No help to be had from that quarter, he was going to have to accept assistance from Adonis.

“Brilliant,” Ian replied. He gathered up the wires and tubes and transferred the monitor to the IV pole. “Ready?”

Mycroft stood and Ian guided him to the bathroom across the room. After getting Mycroft situated, Ian waited outside the bathroom. “He’s doing brilliantly. His symptoms seem to be resolving quickly,” he commented to Greg.

“Don’t tell him that,” Greg said worriedly. “He says he wants to go home. There’ll be no stopping him, if he thinks he’s all better.”

“After his tests tomorrow will be soon enough,” Ian replied. “I’ll let his physician know he’s awake. They’ll explain why he’s got to stay.” Ian checked on Mycroft, and finding him done, he escorted Mycroft back to bed.

“When can I speak with my physician?” Mycroft demanded as he settled back in bed.

“I’ll let them know you’re awake and demanding an explanation,” Ian replied with a wink and a smile. He set the call light within easy reach, and then bustled about making sure Mycroft’s room was in order. “I’ll be back with some ice water,” he remarked before leaving the room.

Greg waited until the door shut, then turned to Mycroft. “Sure you still want to leave? Ian seems very… “ Greg paused, seeming to search for the right word. “Attentive.”

“I’m not in the market for someone just out of adolescence, no matter how big their biceps are or blue their eyes,” Mycroft answered loftily adjusting the blankets around his legs.

“Good to know,” Greg replied with a smile. He sat back down in the chair next to Mycroft’s bed.

“I’ll have you know, I prefer a man of experience, less muscle bound and with dark eyes.” Mycroft continued, cutting his eyes over at Greg, as he plucked at the covers.

Greg reached for Mycroft’s hand and squeezed it. “That’s very good to know.”

Mycroft squeezed back. His grip felt stronger still. He could see the worry lingering in Greg’s face as he stroked Mycroft’s knuckles. “I’m fine,” he reassured Greg. “Really, I don’t see the need to stay.”

Greg closed his eyes. “You’ve no idea how scared I was, seeing you like that. Your face all slack, couldn’t talk… all I could think was, ‘No, we just figured it out.’” Greg opened his eyes, clearly begging. “Please stay. The doc said this could be a warning. You could have a real stroke at any time.”

Mycroft softened in the face of Greg’s worry, but the beep of the monitor pricked steadily at his nerves. “Might I at least plead my case to the doctor?”

Greg sighed, “Just hear them out, promise?”

“I promise.” Mycroft felt confident he’d have his way. He was a master negotiator and mere physician wouldn’t be any challenge.

Greg leaned over and kissed Mycroft warmly. Mycroft responded to the soft lips and tender licks of Greg’s tongue. The heart monitor above him squealed in alarm and Mycroft jerked away.

Greg drew back and looked up. “Oops. Maybe we shouldn’t kiss.” He gave Mycroft a sheepish grin.

“Perhaps not,” Mycroft’s hand clenched in the sheets as the monitor continued to squawk. “Do you think… do you think you can get it to stop?”

The door to Mycroft’s room opened and Ian waltzed in, carrying a large cup of ice water. “Goodness your heart rate is tachy.” He reached up and silenced the alarm. He watched the monitor for a few seconds. “Let’s check your blood pressure.” Ian picked up the nearby cuff and wrapped it around Mycroft’s arm.

“Surely, that’s not necessary right now,” Mycroft protested. Ian shook his head and pressed a finger to his lips, indicating for Mycroft to be quiet. Mycroft clamped his lips tight and scowled fiercely.

“Well, that’s a bit higher than we’d like,” Ian commented as he took the cuff off Mycroft’s arm.

“I suspect that’s my fault.” Greg rubbed the back of his head.

“My blood pressure has never been high before,” Mycroft protested. “I have regular physicals and it has always been perfect.” The alarm went off again.

Ian reached up and silenced it. “Your heart rate is still too high.”

“Is it any wonder?” Mycroft asked querulously. “I’m trapped in this room, chained to a machine that is waiting to signal my eminent demise.”

“Love, you’re not about to die.” Greg tried to placate Mycroft. The alarm went off again.

“That says otherwise!” Mycroft seethed. “I want out of here. Now!”

Ian looked anxiously at Greg and he silenced the alarm yet again. Greg acknowledged the look. “How about you find his doctor?” Greg asked quietly.

“Yes, of course. I’ll have them paged to come to the floor immediately,” Ian confirmed. He hustled out the door mumbling into his communication badge.

Greg got up from his chair. “Budge over,” he murmured to Mycroft.

“I am NOT staying. Don’t try to persuade me otherwise.” Mycroft crossed his arms and stared at Greg, challenging him to try. “Nothing good comes from being here.”

Greg looked down at Mycroft, patient and kind.

Mycroft huffed and shifted to the side, making room. Greg sat on the bed. “I get you’re scared, love. I’m scared too.”

“I’m not scared,” Mycroft lied. He hated that Gregory saw it so clearly and at the same time felt grateful to be understood.

“Then why are you trying to run?”

Mycroft didn’t reply. Instead he curled under Greg’s arm seeking shelter and comfort. Greg kissed the top of Mycroft’s head.

Mycroft whispered, “The alarms, the lights, the smell. They remind me of…” Mycroft shuddered. The memories were battering at the wall he’d built around them. “All those nights, alone, holding his hand and not knowing what to hope. It’s all too horrible.”

“Oh love,” Greg murmured. His hand rubbed up and down Mycroft’s arm, trying to soothe him. “You won’t be alone. I’ll stay and hold your hand.” Greg tipped Mycroft’s chin to look him in the eyes. “I know exactly what to hope for.”


	3. Chapter 3

“A heart defect?” Sherlock rolled his eyes. “I could’ve told them you had a defective heart. It’s obvious to anyone who’s spent five minutes with you.” He slouched in his chair across from Mycroft.

“Sherlock…” John warned, as he handed a teacup to Mycroft. Mycroft nodded his thanks.

“Shut it, you,” Greg growled protectively from the sofa. “He’s trying to tell you something you should know.” Sherlock sulked, but stayed silent and watchful.

Mycroft took a sip of his tea, and then set down his cup. He folded his hands over his knee. “It is called a Patent Foramen Ovale, or PFO. It’s a small hole between the right and left atrium.”

“Yes, yes, John explained when Grayson called before your release.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Greg muttered. His teacup clattered against the saucer.

Mycroft gestured minutely to calm Greg. Secretly he was pleased by his partner’s show of devotion. It would give Sherlock something to consider later. “Well, then you know it’s a congenital defect and you should consider being screened for it.”

“I feel fine.” Sherlock stared mulishly at his brother.

Mycroft sighed. “As did I, brother-mine. Indeed, I felt more than fine, right up until the moment I didn’t.” He looked over at Greg. “I was very lucky, someone was with me.” Greg’s gaze shone brightly back at him, full of love and regard. “I understand your aversion to medical facilities.” He didn’t try to repress the tremor of revulsion that ran through him. “I would believe it's even stronger than mine, but needs must. Needs must.”

“He’ll get it done,” John spoke decisively from the sofa where he sat next to Greg. Sherlock huffed, but didn’t disagree.

Mycroft took it as a win. He and Greg stayed only a few minutes more before taking their leave. As they descended the stairs, they could hear Sherlock whine, “But John…”

“No buts. You’ll have an echocardiogram this week. I’m calling Stamford in the morning.”

“Ah, the sounds of domestic bliss,” Mycroft intoned and Greg snickered.

They stood on the sidewalk outside of Baker Street waiting for Mycroft’s car. Mycroft absently patted his pocket.

“Nope,” Greg tutted. “You’ve quit, remember?”

“Of course,” Mycroft sighed. “When I think about it I don’t really want one, it’s just what I’ve always done. Something to occupy my hands as I wait.”

Greg took Mycroft’s hand in his. “How about I occupy your hand?” He grinned mischievously.

Mycroft looked at their hands linked together. It felt odd, yet strangely natural, odd, because they were standing on the street in broad daylight, natural, because Greg had held his hand for nearly two days straight. He’d stayed with Mycroft the entire time he was in the hospital, went with him to every test, been present at every exam, listened to every consultant. Now two weeks later, after all the tests were reviewed, and the specialist had released him, Greg was still with him.

“Will you come home with me?” He asked the idea just coming to him and rushing out before he could consider what he was saying. “Will you come home with me and stay?”

Greg shrugged. “Sure I can stay for a bit. See you settled.”

“No,” Mycroft turned to face Greg and took his other hand in his. “Stay with me, forever.”

“What?” Surprise and, dare he think it? Pleasure flowed across Greg face. A smile, glowing and soft, lit up his features. It gave Mycroft courage to continue.

“I know this between us is new, but we’ve known each other for a long time. It occurs to me life is short, and I don’t want to spend what’s left of it without you. Stay with me, if not forever,” Mycroft paused and swallowed, aware suddenly of how vulnerable he’d just become. “Then at least for now.” Mycroft gripped Greg’s hands tightly as he spoke.

“Are you proposing to me?” Greg asked quietly.

Mycroft blinked and quickly reviewed his request. “Yes, I believe I am.” Facing each other on Baker Street, this was probably the least romantic place on earth to propose. But Mycroft Holmes never claimed to be romantic.

Greg tugged Mycroft close so now they stood chest to chest. Mycroft had to tilt his chin down and Greg tilted his up. He felt his heart skip a beat. “Yes, I’ll marry you.” Then settle back into its regular rhythm. “Yes, I’ll stay.”

They kissed there on Baker Street. Cars flowed by on the street. Diners entered the café behind them and people hurried along the pavement, skirting the two men embracing on the sidewalk. A curtain in the window above the street twitched, as a black sedan rolled to a stop at the curb. Feeling superbly alive, Mycroft climbed into the back, tugging Greg along with him. Bringing him home, to stay.


End file.
